


Midwinter

by frumplebump



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Established Relationship, Japanese Culture, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, Winter Solstice, dead family members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumplebump/pseuds/frumplebump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rituals and birthdays and memories and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter

Malik noticed the sudden abundance of bright yellow yuzu in the supermarkets, but when he asked Ryou why they and everyone else suddenly needed bags of the fruit, Ryou just said, “It’s the winter solstice.” He laughed at Malik’s unappeased frown. “I’ll show you when we get home.”

Later that night Malik leaned in the bathroom doorway, watching with crossed arms as Ryou spilled the yuzu in a tumbling cascade into the bathtub. Ryou felt his quizzical stare on his back, and turned to smile at him. “New experiences are good for you.”

“Okay, but are you going to tell me how exactly bathing with fruit is supposed to relate to the winter solstice?”

“It’s supposed to keep you healthy for the coming year,” Ryou said with a shrug. He tested the temperature of the water, and turned the tap hotter; he liked it when he could see the steam swirling out of the tub. “It’s just a tradition we have. It’s nice.”

He had sliced a few of the yuzu in half, to let their juices seep directly into the water. Fishing one back out of the bath, he sniffed it, then offered it to Malik. “Smell it.”

“Mm, that’s nice,” Malik said. “Kind of like an orange. But better.” He studied the fruit in his hand. “Can you eat these?”

“You can if you want, but it’s better as a flavor than as food, I think.”

Malik gave the yuzu a tentative lick with the tip of his tongue, shrugged, and tossed it back into the tub.

The citrus scent rising in the humid, warm air pulled Ryou deeper into nostalgia with each breath he took. It was the smell of early winter: the coziness of dark evenings, lights on in every window, long nights. It was the comfort of ritual, a reassurance that he had a past and a future, and that they were linked together by the cycle of the seasons—something that was bigger than Ryou or anyone, something that couldn’t be taken from him. And it was the key that unlocked one of his early, precious memories: his sister and him splashing together in the bath, the yuzu riding the waves around them as their mother laughed.

“Ryou?”

He came back to himself, offering Malik a smile. The tub was filled enough, so he shut off the tap and swirled his hand through the water, then pulled his shirt over his head. “Are you going to join me?” he asked Malik as he stepped out of his pants and underwear.

“Are we both going to fit?” Malik eyed the small bathtub dubiously.

“We can get cozy.”

“Might end up with more than just yuzu floating around in there,” Malik muttered as he took off his shirt.

“Malik!” Ryou pretended to be scandalized, but he couldn’t suppress the laughter in his voice. “That is _not_ part of the tradition.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“It’s the longest night of the year,” Ryou said, slipping into the tub and folding up his legs. “We’ll have plenty of time after this.”

Malik followed him in, gasping at the temperature and sloshing water onto the bathroom floor as they tried to fit themselves into the little tub. Eventually they worked it out, tangling their legs together and practically sitting on each other’s feet. Ryou leaned his head back against the wall, breathing in the citrusy steam and the smell of their bodies, mixing them together in his lungs.

After a moment, Malik wiggled his toe against Ryou’s thigh to get his attention. With a fingertip,  he pushed a yuzu towards Ryou. “Did you do this kind of stuff when you were living by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

Ryou tipped his head, looking at Malik curiously.

“I think it would just make me feel more alone,” Malik said, “to follow these traditions with no one around to share them with. That I would only be able to think of what I’d lost. What I'd destroyed.”

“No,” Ryou said, shaking his head. “It’s the opposite. It’s always made me feel less alone.”

Malik smiled at him, a sad, self-deprecating smile. “And that’s why you’re less of a wreck than me.”

“Malik…” Ryou sighed.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” He hesitated, watching Malik’s face as he stared at a yuzu floating by his leg. “You’ve been feeling bad again these days.”

Malik shrugged.

“I won’t ask you to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Ryou said, resting his hand on Malik’s knee as he spoke, “but you know I’m always here, and I’m always going to help you, if I can.”

Malik smiled a little, but continued to stare blankly. “It’s just not a good time of year for me,” he said. “The dark, and the cold. And tomorrow’s my birthday, and… well, most of the worst things in my life happened on that day.”

If they hadn’t been crammed in the tub, Ryou would have pulled him into his arms. “That’s when you received the initiation?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, and when my other personality… happened. And—” Malik hesitated. “When I was born, my mother died. I never knew her, so maybe I’m just looking for more reasons to feel sorry for myself, but…”

“No, Malik.” Ryou thought again of his mom’s smile as she watched her children play in the bath. “Everyone needs their mother.” He couldn’t clearly remember her face anymore; he knew that his mind filled in the faded details from old photographs, but at least he had that much. She had been real, and he knew she had loved him.

“I think the water’s getting cold,” Malik said.

“Yeah,” Ryou agreed, startled to realize how much time had drifted past them. They extracted themselves from the tub and let the water out, leaving the yuzu beached by the drain. Ryou passed Malik his towel and turned away to wrap his own around himself, slightly ashamed to be getting hard when he wasn’t sure Malik would have the energy or desire for sex. Then he felt Malik’s arms slip around his waist, and shivered into his touch.

“Should I bother getting dressed?” Malik asked, his breath warm against Ryou’s ear.

“I wouldn’t.” Ryou turned his head to kiss him, catching Malik’s lower lip gently between his teeth. His towel slipped from his waist as Malik nudged his hips against him.

Malik tugged Ryou’s wrist, leading him out of the bathroom. They hurried down the hall, teeth chattering and Malik hissing “cold—cold—cold,” and dove shivering into Ryou’s bed. The sheets were chilly against Ryou’s damp body, but Malik’s tongue was hot in his mouth and his breath burned across his skin. The clashing stimuli made Ryou shake in something close to ecstasy, and Malik had barely touched him yet.

“I want you to top,” Ryou breathed, arching into the icy stroke of Malik’s fingertips across his belly. “It’s your turn tonight.”

Malik chuckled as he bent to kiss his chest. “I haven’t forgotten.” He reached across Ryou to snatch the bottle of lube on the bedside table, and tucked it between his arm and his side as he continued to kiss him.

“Hurry up,” Ryou whispered.

“Don’t you want me to warm it up?” Malik nipped at Ryou’s earlobe, drawing a soft groan from him.

“Nope.”

“Okay, then.”

The cold lube on Malik’s fingers met the heat of his body and he thought of frost cracking, ice shattering. He closed his eyes tight, one hand tangled in Malik’s hair and the other on himself, squeezing desperately.

“God, Malik, I want you right now,” Ryou begged.

Malik rolled onto his back, staring with anticipation and raw desire as Ryou climbed onto him. That look, and the trust shining under it, made Ryou throb with arousal and something else, something tender and strong that he was still a little scared to name.

Ryou held Malik under himself, letting his head fall back as he slid down onto him. For a moment he didn’t move, living in the rare sensation of Malik filling him; it felt somehow like being on the edge of tears, in the best possible way. Then Malik bucked his hips impatiently and he rose up a little to let Malik set the pace.

Malik thrust fast and hard under him until they were both breathless and sweating, and then he slowed to let Ryou ride him, his fingers tightening on Ryou’s thighs as he watched him move.

“Oh fuck,” Malik breathed, and Ryou felt the rhythmic spasm of his orgasm inside him.

Ryou ground down on him gently, making Malik’s nails bite into his leg, then slipped off.

“I’m sorry,” Malik said, “I wanted to last longer.”

“It’s okay.” Ryou took himself in hand; he had been close, and didn’t want to lose sight of his own climax.

Malik pushed Ryou’s legs apart and leaned over him, moving Ryou’s hand away and closing his own mouth and fingers over him. “Yes,” Ryou breathed gratefully as he melted into the mattress, too limp even to touch Malik’s hair. It didn’t take him long to finish. He came with a wordless gasp, and shuddered as he felt Malik’s throat working around him as he swallowed.

Malik stretched out along the length of Ryou’s body, and Ryou pulled him into a slow kiss, licking the taste of himself off Malik’s tongue.

“Are you warm enough now?” he asked Malik.

“Mhm.” Malik kissed the tip of Ryou’s nose, then settled drowsily into the pillow, looking at him as his eyelids grew heavy. Ryou liked to watch him fall asleep, to be there for the moment when Malik’s face softened and for a little while, he was safely cradled between the waking world and his nightmares. When he felt Malik’s muscles go slack and his breathing turn deep, he kissed his hair, and let himself follow him.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryou opened his eyes to see Malik lying on his back, one arm behind his head. He was gazing up at the ceiling with a slight frown, as if he was trying to listen to something quiet and far away.

“Good morning,” Ryou murmured.

Malik turned his head. “Hi,” he said.

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

After a moment, Ryou asked, “Is there anything you want to do today?”

“Because it’s my birthday?”

“If you feel like it. Or just in general.”

“How about we just stay in bed all day.” Malik turned and rolled on top of him.

“Sounds good to me,” Ryou said, his words ending in a sigh as Malik tongued at his collarbone.

Malik laid a trail of kisses along his shoulders and neck, then worked along his jaw to tease the sensitive hollow behind his ear. Ryou wrapped his arms around Malik, trembling as each lick crackled like electricity all the way down his spine; but despite Ryou’s eager murmurs, Malik seemed to lose his momentum. He kissed Ryou’s mouth tenderly, almost chastely, then lay down beside him again.

“Can I just hold you?” he asked, his voice apologetic.

“Of course you can.” Ryou turned, letting Malik curl against him, and interlaced their fingers over his chest.

As he matched his inhalations to Malik’s, he thought he could smell the yuzu lingering on their skin. The scent trailed through his memories like incense smoke, drawing a thread between today and yesterday and hundreds, thousands of days ago. It breathed into memories he’d forgotten he had, suffusing them with detail, making his childhood feel as close in time as last night.

Somewhere inside himself, not far below the surface, he was still the boy who giggled at the delightful strangeness of a bathtub full of fruit. He had a mother and a sister and no reason to imagine that one day he might not. Somewhere inside himself, they were still alive.

His breath shook as he exhaled, a deep sigh, and Malik tightened his fingers around his. Ryou felt Malik’s lips move against his neck as he kissed him and asked, “You okay?”

“I am,” Ryou said.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking,” he said, “that it’s been a long time since I went to the cemetery, to visit my mom and my sister.” He paused. “I know this is a weird thing to ask, so don’t feel like you have to say yes, but… if I went there today, would you want to go with me?”

Malik was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I would, actually.”

 

* * *

 

 

The wind stung Ryou’s wet hands as he wiped down the gravestone. He worked as quickly as he could while still being thorough, breathing an apology through his chattering teeth. He hadn’t visited them since the Obon festival in August, and a few weeks after that, Malik had arrived and shifted the axis of Ryou’s world. The remnants of the flowers Ryou had left at the end of summer had long since been cleared away by an anonymous caretaker.

He divided the bouquet he’d brought with him, arranging half in each of the paired stone vases at the base of the grave. Against the polished granite and the gray afternoon, the flowers glowed like a memory of multicolored ribbons vibrant against pale hair.

His fingers were still numb from the cold water, and he fumbled the first two matches as he tried to light his bundle of incense. He heard Malik shift behind him.

“I can do that,” Malik offered, taking his hands out of his pockets as he crouched beside Ryou.

Ryou handed him the matches and smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” he said, as the incense caught and smoked.

He set the sticks into their holder between the flowers, and for a moment, the two of them watched the smoke twist and billow. Then Ryou pressed his hands together in front of his face and closed his eyes.

He didn’t use words, even inside his own head, but he told them he was sorry it had been so long, and that he missed them, and that the other week he’d seen a cat that looked like the one he and Amane used to talk to on their way to school every morning. He told them that it was winter now and that today it might snow, and that for the first time in years he wasn’t alone.

Ryou opened his eyes to look at Malik. His unfocused stare still rested on the smoking incense, but Ryou knew he was far away, maybe talking to his own ghosts.

“I know it’s cold,” Ryou said apologetically as he stood up, “but we should stay till the incense is burned out.”

“I don’t mind,” Malik told him. The incense swirled in and out of their lungs as they stood in silence. After a moment, he said, “What were they like? You’ve never told me much about them.”

“My sister was like me, I think. Less shy, though.” It was hard to articulate who Amane had been. She had been part of his soul, and the wound where she’d been torn away had never cleanly healed. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Like me, but better.”

Malik let him leave it at that. “And your mom?” he asked.

Ryou smiled to himself and said, “She smelled like lilacs.” Thinking about his mother was easier; as he grew up, the pang of missing her had turned into a bittersweet, familiar ache. “Every night at bedtime, she used to kiss me three times, right here.” He touched the bridge of his nose. “The summer before she died, I decided I was too old for that, but she’d still do it sometimes just to tease me.” He thought of her laughter, and how its cadence inflected her voice almost every time she spoke. “She didn’t really like to cook, so she would listen to the radio when she did, to distract herself. She’d sing along when she thought no one was paying attention.”

“You sing when you cook,” Malik said.

“I do?”

“Sometimes. Really quietly.” Malik smiled. “When you think no one is paying attention.”

Ryou flushed and looked at the gravestone, and could almost see his mom and Amane grinning along with Malik.

“I wish I could have known them,” Malik said.

“I wish you could have too.”

“And my own mother.”

Ryou shifted closer to Malik so that they stood shoulder to shoulder. The incense had burned down low; together they watched as it crumpled, then sputtered out. After a moment, Ryou reached out to gather the cooling sticks into the plastic bag that had held the bunch of flowers.

“Before we go,” he asked Malik, “can I show you something?”

Malik nodded.

Ryou led him back through the cemetery and down to the temple, but instead of heading towards the gate, they went across to the other side of the courtyard, where the path curved up around the ridge of the hill. They passed through a stand of bamboo whose stalks whispered together in a sudden gust of wind, and then the path brought them to a small overlook. From here, the treetops of the temple grounds fell away beneath their feet; at the bottom of the hill the roofs of the city spread like a vast gray and brown mosaic, and far beyond them was the harbor.

“I like it up here,” Ryou told Malik. “You can look across the whole city, all the way to the sea.”

“I didn’t know a view like this existed,” Malik said, his eyes bright with interest. “Where’s our apartment?”

_Our apartment._ “You can’t really see it from here, but it’s over in that direction.” He pointed across the city. “See, there’s that round glass building that’s near the train station.”

Malik stood behind him to sight along his pointing finger. “Ah!” he said. “Yep, I see that.” He rested his chin on Ryou’s shoulder, and snuck his hands into the pockets of Ryou’s jacket. “It’s so cold up here.”

Ryou curled his fingers around Malik’s and leaned back against him. “I’ll keep you warm.”

The wind picked up again, bringing with it a few tiny, half-frozen specks of snow. Malik shivered against him, crouching to shelter his slightly taller frame behind Ryou.

“Kind of ironic that I was born right at the beginning of winter, given how much I hate pretty much everything about it,” Malik muttered, hiding his face against Ryou’s hair.

“But it also means that starting on your birthday, every day has a little more sun in it,” Ryou said. “And that seems perfect for you… moving little by little into the light.”

He felt Malik’s arms tighten around him. “Thank you.”

Ryou gave a small shrug, vaguely embarrassed by his sentimental musings.

“I mean it, though,” Malik said. “Thank you—for understanding how it is for me. For not asking for more than I can give, but not giving up on me, either.”

Instead of saying anything, Ryou squeezed Malik’s hands inside his pockets.

“I love you, Ryou.”

His eyes opened wide, and he turned inside the circle of Malik’s arms to face him. Malik’s expression was cautious, but he met Ryou’s gaze steadily. A hesitant smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

Ryou put his hands on either side of Malik’s face, running his fingers back into the wind-tumbled strands of his hair. “Malik,” he said. “I love you, too.”

He felt Malik’s smile against his own, tasted Malik’s relieved laugh as it rolled into his mouth. _I love you_ , he said again, voiceless, tracing the words against Malik’s lips with his own.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a while,” Ryou confessed.

“Me too.” Malik stroked the line of Ryou’s jaw with his thumb, then let his hand settle at the nape of his neck. Ryou leaned into him and they stood like that, swaying slightly against each other as the wind swept in from the sea and Malik shivered and Ryou squeezed his arms around him.

At the crunch of approaching footsteps, they broke away from each other. A pair of old ladies rounded the corner, nodding politely to them as they made their tentative way to the overlook.

“Let’s go home,” Ryou said.

 

* * *

 

 

It was twilight already as they left the temple grounds, and fully night when they got off the subway, even though it was barely five o’clock. They took the long way home to walk under the Christmas lights strung from end to end of the shopping arcade. Malik’s eyes reflected the glow as he looked up, and Ryou snuck his hand into Malik’s even though they were both shy about touching each other in public. Malik let Ryou’s fingers stay curled in his own; as they walked, he shifted to bump against Ryou, making a playful shove out of their mutual need to feel the press of each other’s bodies.

At home, they warmed their fingers and throats with mugs of tea, and then Ryou took the empty cup from Malik, set it carefully on the coffee table, and climbed onto his lap. Malik wrapped his arms around him, twining his fingers into Ryou’s belt loops. They kissed, soft and slow, and when Ryou opened his eyes Malik was looking at him, heavy-lidded.

“Do you want to…?” Ryou asked.

“I want you to make love to me,” Malik said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Ryou kissed him again, both his hands behind Malik’s head and his fingers sliding into his hair as his mouth opened for him. When he leaned back, Malik’s breath was quick and shallow so he stood, pulling him to his feet, pulling him to their bedroom.

They undressed each other, dropping their clothes into a single pile on the floor. Ryou felt Malik shaking as he embraced him. “Get in bed,” he told him.

Malik lay on his back as Ryou leaned over him to kiss his chest, one hand playing gently at the base of his erection; Malik tugged at Ryou’s hair to pull him into a kiss, to urge more, but Ryou leaned back, asking him to roll over with a gentle push on his hip. The question was in the tenderness of Ryou’s touch, and the consent was in Malik’s relaxed muscles and half-closed eyes as he shifted onto his stomach.

Ryou brushed Malik’s hair from his back, baring the entire scar in all its cruel and solemn beauty. He traced the wings of Isis spanning Malik’s shoulder blades, drawing his finger across the intricate feathers—too intricate. He thought of the boy bleeding for each feather, each hieroglyph, and leaned down to press a kiss into the orb that joined the wings.

A shiver pulsed through Malik and Ryou drew back, stroking his upper arm with the back of his hand; another question. “It’s okay,” Malik murmured, “keep touching it.”

Ryou ran his fingertips down the columns of hieroglyphs, and imagined the day, far away but parallel, when they were raw wounds. He wanted to hold out to that child a promise that on some distant birthday, the hands working across his back would move with a devotion to Malik, only Malik, not to the ritual and not to the Pharaoh but only to the soul that stared out of those shadowed lavender eyes.

Ryou’s hands rose with the swell of Malik’s lungs as he sighed. He curled a finger around the sinuous form of the sky dragon and remembered cold wind pummeling him as he fell bewildered into a waking nightmare. He remembered staring into Osiris’ double rows of teeth, the light hurtling from those open jaws like a meteor; he remembered the voice inside his head, and the arms outflung in front of him.

He and Malik both had been too small for the brutal violations they had been made to bear. If there was fairness in any of it, it was that together they nearly balanced each other’s scales, worth as much or more to each other as their shattered childhoods; together they trembled towards an equilibrium.

Ryou kissed the ankh on Malik’s spine like it was something holy, then sat back and watched the scars move as he breathed, each inhalation a testament to Malik’s stubborn insistence on his own continued existence. After a moment, Malik turned to look over his shoulder at him. “Ryou…” he pleaded.

Ryou smiled, letting go of everything except the naked desire in Malik’s eyes, and lay down beside him to ease him open. Malik moaned quietly at Ryou’s touch, then started to writhe when Ryou shifted to use his tongue as well as his fingers.

Ryou urged Malik onto his knees. With his hands on his ribcage Ryou felt Malik’s breath hitch, then flow as he adjusted to Ryou pushing slowly into him.

Carefully he pulled Malik up to kneel in front of him, and wrapped his arms across Malik’s chest, hugging the scars and the breath and the heartbeat against his own body. As he began to move in slow, small thrusts, Malik let his head fall back against Ryou’s shoulder, one hand reaching around into Ryou’s hair.

Ryou kissed the side of Malik’s neck as they moved together, breathing each other’s names. The scars on Ryou’s chest pressed into the scars on Malik’s back, melding together into a single thing, a tattered flag, proof of survival.

And then Ryou wanted more than anything to see Malik’s eyes, so he pulled back and asked him to lay down, and Malik locked one leg around his hip and drew him in deep. They watched each other’s faces, watched the pleasure reflect and build until they finished one after the other, and then they opened their eyes again to smile at each other’s smiles.

They shivered as their sweat started to cool, and pulled the covers up to their shoulders, huddling in a pocket of body heat as they caught their breath. “I hope your birthday wasn’t too bad,” Ryou said.

Malik chuckled, low in his throat. “The only good one so far.” He brushed his nose against Ryou’s, kissed him. “I can’t wait til next year.”

 


End file.
